


you came to me, a flutter of angel's wings in a barren life

by confessa



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Gen, Minor Violence, Slow Burn, Swearing, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-07 04:31:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6785314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confessa/pseuds/confessa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A multi-chapter fic following the prompts for Kastle Week on tumblr - one chapter to be uploaded a day.</p>
<p>Firsts, Flutter, Dreams, AUs, Storm, Burn, Lasts. </p>
<p>"Blonde hair. Tall. Pale. That’s all he remembered from their first meeting. He had seen her face for just a few seconds. In fact, he wouldn’t have been able to recall it if he hadn’t met her again. In a fucking hospital, this time him lying on the bed and her towering over him. Was this what you called karma?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Firsts

**Author's Note:**

> So this multi-chapter is actually written for Kastle Week on tumblr, but it incorporates a lot of the elements I would like to see written into the Punisher show vis-a-vis the Frank/Karen relationship. I have not read the comics, so my handling and writing of comic book characters like Micro who have not appeared on the TV show are going to be canon-divergent.

  


The first time he saw her, he had been annoyed as shit. Hospital staff, he could just scare off. Knock out the policeman, shoot near their heads and they go scurrying like rats. Simple. He does consider later that maybe he had been too rash, too high on the adrenaline of the trigger, shooting off in a hospital. Hell, he should’ve known that well enough as a veteran. So he concedes on that point to Red, not that he's going to admit it to the Catholic boy's face. 

Hospital ethics aside, he hadn’t factored in her presence. Thought she would go off running like the rest of them and leave the dipshit alone once he fired a few warning shots at her. But she kept getting in the way, pulling the scumbag along, making Frank’s mission a pain in the ass. She was brave, he had to give her that. But also fucking stupid. 

That’s why he hadn’t followed them down the stairwell. Wasn’t gonna accomplish much to continue anyway. The blonde would most likely end up as collateral damage, and although Frank had briefly considered that maybe people protecting scumbag thugs who murdered innocent old ladies deserved to get shot too, he had enough sense left to discard that thought. This was what service people do – doctors, nurses, lawyers, whatever she was. 

Blonde hair. Tall. Pale. That’s all he remembered from their first meeting. He had seen her face for just a few seconds. In fact, he wouldn’t have been able to recall it if he hadn’t met her again. In a fucking hospital, this time him lying on the bed and her towering over him. Was this what you called karma? 

He knew it was her. He had found out the people protecting the Irish were the team that had put Fisk away. Recognised the bespectacled, blind, pretentious bag of shit (fucking Red) and the stuttering counselor who badly needed a haircut. So the blonde must’ve been the one at the hospital. 

After she had spoken, she had been all that was there. The blind one was gone, and only the fat one remained. But it didn’t matter. All that legal jargon. He only looked at her. This woman had pried into his life, walked into his house, touched the shell of his former life. Who the hell did she think she was? He had stared at her, and she had stared right back. Pretty - she was pretty. First time in a long while he had thought a woman was pretty. She brought back memories of sunny days and laughter. 

She had the answers for him. That had been the first time. She would have the answers for him again and again. 

 

*

The first time she saw him, she had been scared as hell. Who wouldn't be scared of a hulking mass of black coming at them with some sort of assault rifle? She didn’t know guns well, only knew enough of them to pick out her own semi-automatic. Her heart had pretty much jumped into her throat, but her body had kicked itself into action out of instinct before her mind caught up. Grab Grotto, run, don't get your brains blown out. 

The bullets had rained on them. She hadn’t thought about anything much while running for her life, but she later wondered how she had escaped in one piece. Her shooter kindly provided the answer later: Quantico 307 apparently meant you had really good aim. 

She didn’t know what possessed her to walk right up to him and shove the photo in his face. Sure, he was handcuffed to the bed, and probably too weak to have moved much, but agitating a mass murderer no matter what state he is in is not the smartest thing to do. She supposed it was around that time that alarm bells should have been going off in her head. She should have questioned why she felt so strongly about this man. For the longest time, she had told herself that it was a quest for the truth, but she knew now that this was only half of it.

Projecting, Ellison had called it. A man with a tragic past, coping with the repercussions of it. It had struck right at her core, the part of herself that she had carefully filed, boxed and hidden away in a corner of her own being. It wouldn’t be touched again, every time there was a shift and the box slid back out into view, she would simply push it back where it belonged. 

It would have ended right there if Frank had not been so bloody soft. That was the only way she could describe him. Soft, broken. Perhaps it had affirmed her own unconscious desire to see him as a man capable of being rescued. They always say that women go for bad men because they unconsciously want to change and nurture them for the better. So when Frank had looked at her with wide, frantic eyes about failing to protect the ones he had loved, and the box had slid right into view again, close to opening up, she had already made a decision about the man that Frank was. Deranged, maybe. But not a monster. He was not a monster.

“You stay.” 

The fear had struck again at his voice. Rough, deep. The memory of him walking down the hospital corridor flashed across her mind. But then, “please”. Soft. He had boxed his own past away too, put it behind locked doors and thrown away the key. It was there though. It was coming back. All she had to do was help him find the key and then maybe he would find peace. 

She had been angry at Matt for a while. For lying to her, for his moral high ground, for not trusting her enough. She let go of that anger quickly enough, because she had realised that she had been no better. She had never been honest with him, never told him about Wesley or her brother, she had not trusted him enough to know her true self. And as for moral high grounds, from the way she had tried so hard to “save” Frank, she had her own messiah complex to deal with. 

Things had changed since then. Frank eventually did find the key, but then he shot the head off, took a can of fuel and burned his whole house down, box and all. Still, she doesn’t forget how he was that first time they interacted, and throughout their time together. A different man from the one people knew him as and that people did not, could not, believe he could be. Only, he chose to prove them right. He had used her as bait, crashed into her car and literally closed the door on her. She wondered whether the next time they met, he would quite treat her the same way.

 

*

“Who did that to you?”

The rough voice was so sudden, Karen nearly dropped her keys in fright. She had been outside her apartment block, trying to get the key to enter the freaking keyhole. It was a little tough given her black eye and swollen jaw, and the dull, throbbing headache that had plagued her since the attack that morning.

She whipped around, her mind registering the owner of the voice just a mini-second later, her heart jumping into her throat. He was standing a few feet off from the stairs, half-hidden in the shadows, hands in his pockets. He was sporting a shiner himself, but with his baseball cap drawn low over his face and the lack of illumination on his face, that was all Karen could make out.

“Frank.” She breathed out, realising that she had been holding her breath. This was the first time she was seeing him in almost six months. “W-what are you-”

“I asked you a question.” He brusquely cut across her. “Who did that?”

Karen’s heart began to race even faster than it already was. Her mind began to process the meaning behind his words. If she told him what had happened, that a man had pulled her into an alley that morning and roughed her up, he might go after him. Kill him. That’s what the Punisher did, right? Kill bad guys. 

“This was nothing.” She replied quickly. “I just-” Shit, she didn’t have an excuse. “I just pissed off the wrong people.” 

He raised his face slightly, the light from the building windows reaching his face then. His eyes were dark and narrowed. Karen felt a chill travel down her spine. “Did he have a scar on his face? Down one eye.”

Karen blanched. “What?”

“I said,” His voice was strained, frustration breaking through at her slow uptake. He was on edge, clearly uncomfortable at being there, talking to her. “Did he have a scar across one eye? Russian, tanned skin.”

Karen’s could feel the blood draining even more from her face. She had assumed that the Russian had been after her because of an article she had written a few weeks back on some underground trafficking activities, but this meant…Although she hadn’t said anything, Frank had obviously received his answer already from her reaction. He seemed to stand a little taller, perhaps drawing himself together, and he abruptly turned his back to her and began to walk away.

“Frank, wait!” She cried out, knowing what he meant to do now. “Don’t do this. Just leave it alone okay.” He ignored her, weaving in between the cars parked by the curb. “Frank! Don’t get blood on my hands, please.”

He stopped at that, turning back just a bit to fix her with a hard gaze. His voice, when he spoke, was cold. It sent a chill up her spine once again. “The blood won’t be on your hands.”

And that was it. A nondescript, white van had drawn up beside him, driven by a man too hidden in the dark for Karen to make out. Frank opened the passenger door, climbed in, and banged the door close without a second glance back. Karen stood at the roadside for a while more, watching the van drive away, hands slightly shaking and a terrible sense of foreboding coiling up in her stomach. As with all the times in the past, Frank re-entered her life with the promise of bloodshed. Hell’s Kitchen was coming alive once more.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay sorry, I did not want to end the first chapter with just their meeting, but I am confined by what and how much I want to write for each of the Kastle Week prompts!
> 
> I wrote a lot of this in a rush because I'm a terribly slow writer and I ended exams just a week back. Do let me know if the characterisation is too off or there are glaring errors! Comments are much loved and craved. THANK YOU.


	2. Flutter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second prompt! This chapter is longer, yay! I had wanted to keep it short, as per the first chapter, but this thing had become a beast before I could stop it.
> 
> Also, I realised as I wrote these first two chapters that my language is clearly not colourful enough for Frank. I need a thesaurus for swear words (pretty sure there'll be one on the Internet if I google it).

  
“That the reporter?” Micro asked, one hand on the wheel, the other gripping a large cup of what Frank assumed would be his favourite Pepsi. Guy was never seen without one somewhere in the room. 

Frank only grunted in reply, busy double-checking his assault rifle, making sure everything was in working order and he had enough bullets to make his move. The back of the van was littered with ammunition – sniper rifles, shotguns, a boxful of handguns, the whole shebang, courtesy of Micro. Fucking Russians had run this place like their little kindergarten playground for long enough. Tonight, their stench would finally be cleansed from this already stinking shithole that was New York City. Fank’s finger began to twitch incessantly at the thought, and he had to put down the rifle on his lap to let it subside. 

“She’s seen better days.” Micro continued, distractedly. He wasn’t too invested in his words, his words coming out in a lazy drawl as he manoeuvred past an idling truck, so he didn’t notice Frank tense up. “Guess the Russian wasn’t kidding when he told you he would hurt her.”

Frank took a few moments to slowly slide the magazine back into the rifle, calming his own thoughts. Adrenaline was good, it helped you wake up and focus on the task at hand. Emotions, on the other hand, were a liability. The click of the magazine in place brought a tug of satisfaction. When he spoke, his voice was controlled, calculating.

“Yeah, well, Russians ain’t gonna be hurting anyone for much longer. We strike before daybreak. I can’t take their fucking stench any longer.”

 

*

Frank remembered the feeling of seeing his family again after time apart. It could be after months on deployment or a short trip to buy groceries, didn’t matter. Any time apart. His eyes would catch the blonde of Lisa’s hair, the grin on Frank Jr., or the dimpled smile on Maria’s face, and his heartbeat would soar. God, he had loved them so much. 

There were few things that raised his heartbeat the same way these days. Maybe the rush of adrenaline when he pulled the trigger, or physical exertion, but these were biological. It wasn’t the same quickening of the blood in his veins, the quiet flutter of his heartbeat, when he saw something that took his breath away. A beautiful sunset, Maria in a red dress, his baby in his arms, tiny fingers curled around his thumb. It was your brain going a little wonky at seeing something - in admiration, in awe, in whatever - and your body following suit. No, his heartbeat was pretty stoic nowadays. Not like there was much to look for in life anymore. 

Which was why, when he felt the flutter again, he had ignored it. 

It happened when Karen Page had yelled at him in the jail, and he had seen that fire in her eyes, the tenacity. He had been dumbstruck, he would admit that. The lady definitely had courage. He knew as much by that point, first protecting Grotto at the hospital and then crossing the fucking red tape beside his hospital bed like he wasn’t some mass murderer who had hung men from meat hooks. Still, he had chalked most of that up to either dumb ‘good Samaritan’ values or his own weakened mess in the hospital. When she had shifted nervously upon entering the visiting room, staying a good distance from him, eyes cast down and voice unsteady, he had felt almost smug. He liked it. Liked knowing that he struck fear in other people, that this lady was no better than what he had figured when he first saw her protecting Grotto.

Which was why her anger had knocked him off course. Sticking up for herself, throwing his own shit back at him, eyes blazing and voice rising. God, hadn't he always made a fool of himself in front of strong, fiery women like that? And it had happened. Just a small flutter of his heartbeat. A quick skip in the steady drum. 

It came back a few times after that. In the courtroom, at her apartment, He hadn’t done much besides acknowledging it. What with the shit that followed, it had slipped from his mind again. Didn’t have time to be getting all introspective over his heartbeat.

That was the past though. He no longer had time for such distractions. Not that he would deny that Karen Page slipped into his thoughts every now and then, even more so in his dreams, but he pushed that thought away, refused to let it linger. His unconscious mind was already giving him enough problems to deal with, no fucking way he was gonna let his conscious mind get away with shit like that. Distractions. They had a time and place, and those were not in this lifetime. Not anymore. 

So when he had seen her again on the steps of her building, he was pleased to feel his heartbeat continuing its usual pace. No ups, just a steady staccato. Then she had turned at his voice, her face bathed in the light of the porch, ad instead of smooth, porcelain skin, he was greeted with a patchwork of blue and black. His heart hadn’t fluttered then. No, it had just fucking roared. 

 

*  
Ivan Kuvinsky lay bloody against the wall, both legs broken, each twisted at an inhuman angle. A couple of ribs had been done in too, and his right shoulder dislocated. The fucker was still alive though, his mouth stretched open in a Joker’s grin. 

“Angry I beat up your girl, Mr. Castle?”

That fucking flutter again. Frank willed his mind to ignore the man. He grabbed his rifle off the floor and aimed it at the last of the Russians running into the warehouse room. Bang, bang, down before they could even raise their guns at him. Amateurs. The warehouse floors were littered with their bodies, almost too easy a target for someone of Frank’s calibre. They had been running some sort of trafficking ring on the outskirts of the city, except their ware was a little…questionable. The crates lining the warehouse floors were definitely filled with heroin, but hidden inside each bag of the substance was some kind of microchip. Frank had nicked a few to show to Micro later – the man was nicknamed after the thing after all.

The Russian at his feet coughed up some blood, pulling Frank out of his thoughts and back to the task at hand. He walked a few feet away to where his duffel bag lay. 

“You know…” Ivan gurgled out, blood running down from the corner of his mouth. “People will see. They will see, everyone shot. One shot, one kill right? I know your MO. But me. I’m bad. I’m beat up. They will see. They will know.”

For fuck’s sake. Red should acquainted with the guy, with the amount of talking they both did. Could probably run a little TV show together. _Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to another evening of who the fuck can outtalk the other._ Frank itched to take a gun and blow the guy’s brains out, but he didn’t wanna waste his bullets. 

Frank pulled out the device Micro had given him from the duffel bag. It was pretty lightweight, a ten-by-six inch black box that had only a set of buttons on side and a small square interface on the other. The numbers read 3:00. He had already set up the other shit he needed in the rest of the warehouse. Ivan, on the other hand, was still giving a fucking monologue.

“They’ll know. That the Punisher has a girl. Hurt the girl, and get the Punisher to come.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.” Frank muttered, zipping up the bag and punching the security code into the box. 

Ivan coughed out a laugh, more blood streaming out of his mouth. “She was a pretty thing. I’d like to have fucked her too, you know. Should have done it. Tasted her pretty little cunt.”

Frank didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. He pressed a little red button and the box switched on with a little beep, which continued at three second-intervals as the numbers began to tick down. 

“What have you got there, Mr. Castle? A toy for me?” 

“A bomb.” Frank replied simply, putting the device down. He walked over and squatted in front of the Russian, looking him dead in the eye. “Don’t think they’ll see the preferential treatment you got here today, buddy, not unless they can put your worthless body together from dust.”

Ivan’s grin was plastered to his face, but the light had died in his eyes. “You better get going then, Mr. Castle, time’s a ticking.”

No shit. He got back on his feet, picking up his gun and bag along the way before stalking out of the room. “You’ve got two minutes to try and shut it off. Trying talking to it, maybe it’ll shut up before you do.”

It didn’t. 

 

*

There had to be some serious shit in the warehouse, because the thing went off with a real bang. Even Frank flinched from the shock of the blasts, seated at a safe distance in the passenger seat of the van. The explosions ripped through the warehouse room by room, windows and roofs blown out, and everything eventually consumed in one big fall of flame. Frank felt a morbid satisfaction in watching the whole thing go up, as if he was a young boy playing with fire. 

Micro broke him out of his reverie. “Boss, we’ve got company.”

Frank swore under his breath when he saw who it was that had joined them. Karen Page, standing tall and proud, sporting some she-warrior stance as she planted herself right in the van’s path. Maybe it was the way she was bathed in the light of the flames, half her body thrown into a sharp relief as the other was flung into the shadows, but there was something distinctly powerful about her as she stood there. He swore again as he threw the door open, his boots crunching in the dirt as he stepped out. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked roughly, anger rising in him, both at her for following him and at himself for being followed. The noise of the explosion had masked the sound of her footsteps, and he had been too bloody distracted to notice her approach. He stood by the van door, arm still resting on the frame, refusing to walk to her. 

Her face was calm and collected, almost steely, different from the stuttering girl at the door earlier that day. This was the woman who had yelled at him in the prison visiting room, who wasn’t going to take anyone’s shit. 

“I’ve been investigating the Russians for a couple of months now, about a trafficking ring they were running. There were three warehouses being used by them as a front for the trade. I had a one in three chance of getting your shooting range right, favoured the odds were good, so…” She shrugged nonchalantly. “I picked one.”

“Huh, well aren’t you just Lady Luck? You planning to go for the lottery now?”

“Not really. I went to the other two before I got it correct.”

He couldn’t help the huff of laughter that escaped his lips. Shit. He quickly masked it, saw Micro inside raising an eyebrow at him. They had to move soon, before the police arrived, and small talk was the last thing he should be doing. Karen had seen her opening though, and hell, being the reporter she was, she grabbed her chance.

“Frank.” Her voice turned a shade softer, a flutter running through it as she almost exhaled his name rather than speak it. “Why did you attack them?”

Except she was a junior reporter, and this was the wrong line of questioning. He hadn’t known what she had wanted to say to him, what she wanted from stalking him to this warehouse, but her question made him realise the answer she was chasing. With that, the full extent of what he had done that evening, to the Russians and to Ivan, hit him – revenge. He had spent the past six months steadfastly making sure that his connections were all cut, burning down that goddamn house, killing the Colonel and burying the truth of Kandahar, except he had left this one little wound open for people to exploit. And they had fucking done it. He had fucking allowed them to do it. 

“I didn’t do this for you.” He said flatly. She blinked, taken aback by the sudden change in his tone. His anger only surged at that. “What did you expect? That I came after them for attacking you?”

“That’s…” She looked both bemused and dismayed, as if she had realised her misstep. “That’s not what I meant. I know you didn’t do this all for me.”

“So why are you here? To preach at me? Tell me that this ain’t right or that I should be the better man? That I’m not a monster?” 

“No, I just-“

“Go back and have that talk with Red. He’s the one all up in the morals shit.”

“Red?”

“Bah.” He waved his hand in irritation, getting back in the van. He was already talking more than he should. His skin suddenly itched, like there was something crawling underneath it and he needed to rip it off and hang it out to dry. The heat was making everything worse and he wished it would just goddamn settle down. 

She didn’t let him go so easily though. “Frank, why did you come to see me?”

 _Because they fucking threatened you and I had to see for sure._ Not that he was going to say that. In fact, he didn’t want to say anything at all, but the words came out before his mind shut his mouth up. “The Russian mentioned you. I came to check whether he had your name right.” Karen’s eyes softened at that. Shit, trust her to read the best out of any sentence. He shook his head in disgust. “I didn’t kill them for you. They were already on my list.”

In the distance, police sirens began to sound – well that was fast, maybe they were finally doing their jobs. Micro shot him a quick glance, and Frank nodded at him in understanding, pulling his door close. Karen had noticed the sirens as well, her head whipping round to the source of the sound. The next second, she had rushed forward to his door, hand on the sill of the open window. 

“Wilson Fisk is going to break out of prison in two months.” 

The words came out in such a frantic jumble that he nearly didn’t catch them. He held up a hand for Micro to wait, and stared at Karen. Her hand was gripping the sill hard, and she swallowed thickly. “I managed to get one of the prison guards to talk. He’s planning to get out within the next two months.”

With the fire burning bright behind her, her face was all but a silhouette, despite the short distance between them. He was glad for it; he couldn't see the bruises on her face that way. He could still make out the mole just above her lips though – his eyes had inadvertently shot down to it before coming back up to meet her gaze. 

“And why are you telling me this?”

A beat passed. “Need all the help I can get to make sure it doesn’t happen. That’s partly why I chased you down.”

The police sirens were getting dangerously close now. He held her gaze for a moment more, his heart beat rising a little higher, then he was waving her hand away and she had obediently stepped back. He didn’t say anything else to her, but there seemed to be an unspoken agreement that the conversation would continue another time. She wouldn't risk him getting caught by the police. This time though, he kept his gaze on her in the side-window as they drove away.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, semi-proper Kastle dialogue? I'm forcing myself to go slow, but the next chapter will finally more interactions! Fisk is such a good guy in my books, giving me an easy reason for Frank to agree to even entertain Karen. Ha. 
> 
> Thanks for all the wonderful kudos and/or comments here or on tumblr. You can find me at [alwaysmyoriginalsin](https://alwaysmyoriginalsin.tumblr.com).


	3. Dreams

  
Maria’s face. A laugh. The giggle of a small child. Frank Jr., running away with cookies in his hand. The feel of Maria’s hair in his mouth. _Ugh, move your hair out of the way. You should cut it. You talk like that, but I know you like it._ He did. The feel of her hair. Soft in his fingers as he curled them around her head. Lisa’s blonde hair. In two ponytails. _Frankie pulled my hair._ Tears. The soft touch of fingers over the bruises on his knuckles. _What about hope, Frank? Just this once._ The quiet beep of the heart monitor. Too quiet. The smell. The smell of chicken pie, baked fresh from the oven. The smell of alcohol. The smell of chlorine. Sanitised hospital rooms. _Dad, play the piano for me._ Crumbs on the floor. _Dammit, Frankie, you don’t eat near the piano._ He would let him eat anywhere he wanted, anywhere at all. The warm gush of blood from a faceless man’s throat. The Punisher. The Big Bad Punisher. A skull, crushed beneath his hands. _Stay away from me._

The sounds were getting louder. 

_You're unhinged, Frank._

_Honey come to bed._

Louder.

_There is goodness in people, even in you._

_They all think you're a monster._

_It’s about Kandahar!_

There was a hole in his head and the sounds were pouring in and everything was getting louder.

_Daddy!_

_Frank, are you there?_

_You’re dead to me!_

Frank’s eyes flew open, and he bounded out of bed, his breathing harsh and ragged, hand gripping his chest like it was being crushed under an invisible weight and his windpipe had collapsed in on itself. Micro was at the table, microchip in hand, twirling it slowly in between his fingers as he looked carefully at Frank, his eyes sharp and astute. 

“She gets under your skin.”

Frank threw off his blanket, beads of sweat running down his face. He didn’t know what he had spoken out loud in his sleep but he had nothing to say now. He sat there, waiting for his heartrate to settle down. Goddamn mind running off on its own little holiday again, taking a shit trip down memory lane to say hi to Frank Castle's little friends. He'd plug that motherfucker if he could, it had taken one bullet already, maybe another one would shut it up. 

“You need to see her again, to find out about Wilson Fisk.”

Frank caught the unspoken words – distractions, liabilities, they needed to be removed. Right now, he was less than at his peak. He got to his feet, heading to the bathroom to clean up. The clock read 4:00. Two hours of sleep. Fucking hell. 

“I’ll deal with it.” 

 

*  


The next six days after the warehouse incident was quiet, with no word or any form of contact from Frank. Karen wondered how he would find her. She had returned to her apartment every night, anticipating his presence, or glanced over her shoulders when she walked the streets, expecting a white van to pull up, but she was disappointed each time. She was working on the presumption that he would find her at all, of course, but she knew he would. He wouldn’t ignore her after she told him about Fisk. 

She had been researching into the circumstances in which Frank had made his prison escape so quickly after being sent in, and discovered fairly easily that he had been delivered to the same prison block as Fisk. After she returned to speaking terms with Matt, he had revealed to her that the prison guards were practically under Fisk’s thumb. The only reason the Kingpin hadn’t broken out yet was that he was finding a legitimate reason to leave, so that the DA and police couldn’t just throw him back in. 

In the wake of Reyes’ murder, the former Governor had been sacked, and a new one elected – a Mr Jason Drews. He was completely clean, on record. He had graduated with a law degree, serving in the DA’s office for nearly a decade before leaving to lead the Consumers Union based in New York. He worked for a few years as an officer in the Office of Science and Technology, moving to D.C., before being elected to his current office. There was nothing dirty in the polls either, and he had been lauded for his transparency and integrity. However, alarm bells went off when she managed to wring out of a former prison guard that Fisk was confident that Drews would grant him parole within the next few months. 

Matt had already been informed of this, and he had promised to find out what he could about Drews. Ever since she had learnt of his super-hearing skills, she had been exploiting him to help her catch leads. It put off his concerns about her getting too involved in dangerous situations too, if she gave him the responsibility of snitching criminals rather than doing it herself. Foggy had also proved indispensable, using his contacts in the law industry to pull out information that would otherwise be difficult or impossible for her to access. The three of them may be leading very different lives now, but Karen felt happy that they were still working as a team. 

And now she had brought Frank Castle right into the fold. Karen rubbed her tired eyes as she sat at her desk, staring emptily at the half-written article in front of her. Ellison had demanded that she submit the article by midnight, and she had just 4 hours to go, but she was too distracted to gather her thoughts coherently. The thing was, Matt and Foggy didn’t know the full reason why she wanted to make sure Fisk was kept behind bars for life. Yes, there was the fact that Hell’s Kitchen would be turned into a turf war again with organised crime ruling the streets if he came back out. People’s lives would be endangered. The more selfish reason, however, was James Wesley. 

Fisk would find out about it sooner or later, she was sure of it. Wesley had been more than just a right-hand man in Fisk’s silent army, he had been his closest friend, a fact she had discovered with crippling horror in the weeks after she had put seven bullets in his body. Although time had healed some of the wounds, she still woke up shivering in the middle of the night sometimes, the after-image of Wesley’s face in her dreams clinging to her skin like the scent of onion on a knife. 

Which was why, in a moment of madness, she had rushed after Frank when he turned up at her building's doorstep. It was a funny thing – in those few hours spent with Frank, she had felt safe. Maybe it was terrible, no, it _was_ terrible, feeling safe because she knew this man would murder those who came after her. Shame settled in her gut whenever she found herself defending his actions, standing up for him, even though she could not stop herself from doing so. If Foggy and Matt found out she had gone to him, they would probably think she was insane.

She finally gave up trying to write the article, scribbling an apology and a promise to hand in the article the day after on a post-it and leaving it on Ellison’s door. The warm night air hit her face as she stepped out of the building, and she blew a strand a hair irritably from her face. Summer brought sundresses and slippers, sure, but it also brought the heat. 

“The van is parked around the corner, one with the bookstore.” Karen yelped a little at the sudden voice, the owner stepping out of the shadows beside the Bulletin’s entrance. Did he always have to be so goddamn dramatic? Still, her bad mood alleviated a little. He had come to her after all. 

Instead of stopping beside her, Frank simply walked off as if he hadn’t spoken to her at all, casually glancing this way and that and for all the world looking like he was just any one of the people walking about the area. She forced herself not to stare after him. He was trying not to expose their interaction, which meant there might be people watching. Goosebumps appeared along her arms. Hopefully, he was just being paranoid. 

 

*  
He was already sitting in the driver’s seat of the van when she reached, sipping a cup of coffee, baseball cap drawn over his eyes again. Guess the other man wouldn't be joining them tonight. She wondered how he handled hot coffee on such a warm night, given the fact that he was also wearing a jacket and boots. Maybe going to war taught you how to survive without the AC. 

“Hey.” She said softly, sliding into the seat next to him. He didn’t respond. He simply put down his cup in a holder, and pulled the car out onto the road. His body was rigid and clearly tensed up. 

So it was going to be like this. Him ignoring her despite the fact that she was sitting right beside him. She bit her lip to shut down any scathing remarks – not like he would give a shit. She found herself reconsidering her decision to bring him into the loop. 

They had driven for a couple of minutes more before he finally spoke. Karen couldn’t tell whether he had any destination in mind or whether he was driving around aimlessly. “Tell me what you know.”

She could have ripped her hair out at that point. “Wow, you’ve got manners you know that?”

Nothing. 

“Some words would be nice.”

“What, you want some niceties? Tea? Coffee?” His voice was so gravelly, it was like the scrape of rough sandpaper against itself.

“Coffee would actually be nice. I’m dying over here.”

She heard the soft exhale of annoyance. His eyes remained on the road, but he held out his cup at her. She was taken aback for a moment, not actually having meant her words, and feeling oddly touched, but since she felt particularly vindictive and had no other way of acting out, she took the cup and gamely swigged a long gulp down, only to nearly cough the thing back out. Of course the Punisher liked his coffee black, bitter and extremely strong. It was tough to see in the poor illumination provided by other cars and streetlamps, but there seemed to be the slightest of a smug curl at his lips. 

“Tell me about Fisk.” 

They spent the next fifteen minutes driving around town as she related all that she knew – omitting the parts of Matt being Daredevil, although she suspected he already knew about it. He didn’t meet her eyes the whole time, and he spoke little except grunts here and there to indicate he was listening, but his body language began to loosen over time. She ended off with the latest information Foggy had gotten for her – Benjamin Donovan had been mentioned in conversation by Drews, in a way that indicated the two had met before. Donovan was Fisk’s lawyer and had been paying regular visits to his client since Fisk was thrown in prison. 

Frank’s trigger finger had been tapping on the steering wheel the whole time, and although his posture was now relaxed, she had seen his eyes carefully darting around every so often, on the lookout for any threat. She knew the risk of being seen with the Punisher. 

“You getting any deeper into this shit?”

“Of course, I’m not going to take it lying down. If I can expose Fisk’s influence before he gets out, it could help keep him in.”

Frank’s face betrayed nothing, eyes fixed on the roads in front of him. The headlights of an incoming car illuminated his face for a few seconds, and she was struck, as always, by the intensity of his gaze. He was clearly deep in thought. 

“Are you going to try and stop me?”

“Not my problem.” 

“And yet you had to check on me when the Russian said he would hurt me.”

“Would’ve done it for anyone else.” The reply came without delay. He flicked a glance in her direction. It was the first time he had deigned to look at her the whole drive, and despite his harsh behaviour, she found herself craving for more. “I won’t let you get hurt if I can help it, but you need to stop thinking you’re something special. You’re my source, and I ain’t interested in anything else.”

She had known he would say that, but it still hurt to hear it. Perhaps she needed it though. She leaned her head against the window, wondering what the hell she was doing sitting in the van with the Punisher, what she had expected or wanted from him. She realised she was still holding his coffee cup in her hands, gripping it just a little too hard and pushing the sides in. Wasn’t that who she was? Always trying just a little too hard and taking things too far. How much of a wreck was she to have gone running after the Punisher instead of in the other direction?

The conversation ended after that, Karen being in no mood to speak and Frank not being interested in even acknowledging her. The silence was uncomfortable, and she exhaled in relief when she recognised the streets around her as her own neighbourhood. He was driving her back to her apartment. 

She practically jumped out of the van before it even came to a complete stop. She muttered a thanks, grabbing her handbag and skipping out. She needed a shower to wash this entire day away. 

“One more thing.”

He was looking right at her when she turned back. So it took her leaving to get him to meet her eyes. “Yeah?”

“Fisk has something on you right?”

She wondered how he did that, knowing things that he couldn’t have. Back at the diner, when he had read her feelings about Matt, even before she had put any thought or form to it herself, or when he had correctly guessed that she had handled a gun before, that it hadn't been her first rodeo and he had nodded, eyes boring into hers, understanding, knowing almost nothing and yet knowing everything all at one. And all from...what? Her face? Her posture? Some note plastered on her forehead revealing everything there was about her and which only he could see?

“You…how can you know that?” 

“At the warehouse last week, you came to me for a reason.” 

Wesley’s face in her dreams, eyes empty and bleeding. Fisk’s hands wrapped around her throat, his face warping to Ben’s, who had seven bullet wounds spurting blood onto her clawing hands, desperate to escape. She wanted so much, so fucking much to say something about it. To hold her head in her hands and scream out the truth. The box of her past – her sweet, young brother and the rage in his eyes – began crawling out from where she had shoved it, out of view, hidden from the world because that was all she had left of him.

“I’m not interested in what it is.” Frank was looking hard at her, evidently reading every expression and emotion on her face, and she wondered whether he could read her mind. “But if it’s going to compromise this mission, you better tell me now.”

In the past, before he had chosen to burn away the man he used to be, perhaps he would have said it softer, more kindly. He might have grinned at her, the edges of eyes wrinkling as they softened in mirth and his face lighting up despite the bursts of red, blue and black on it. Or he might have whispered at her, like he had in her apartment, shushing her and calming her down, his voice so soft that she might not have heard him. She would have told him everything then, if he had asked. 

“No. No it won’t compromise this _mission_ .” She spat out the last word. His eyes might have softened then, a flicker of regret shooting across his face, but she didn’t want to see it. He had spent these past few weeks making his stance on their relationship clear, and he didn’t get to turn back now and pull her back in.

“I’ll send you a burner, so that you can feed me more information.”

“Sure. Anything else?”

“Don’t try and find me.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I guess you might have notice by now that I am a lover of angst for my couples. I also didn't want Karen to be the one chasing after an asshole Frank, so I hope at one point on the Punisher or DD show, she firmly tells Frank off. 
> 
> That said, fret not if you are looking for fluff! Next chapter is AUs, and I'm gonna have a bit of fun with that one. I added "Marvel Cinematic Universe" as one of the Fandoms for this work, so you can guess what character I might utilise to make the AU actually happen within the fic. ;)


	4. AUs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a shit ton of fun writing this chapter, so I really hope you guys enjoy it just as much as me.

 

The wave hit New York some time in the middle of the night. People woke up the next morning, frazzled, unsettled, the dreams they had in the night unusually vivid, unusually real – the sights, smells and sounds lingering as if they had experienced it just a moment before. Some were able to discern what had actually happened. They recognised the tendrils of the Scarlet Witch’s power in their veins, curling up around their minds as they slept.

Something had happened far away in another country, and few might ever comprehend that the worlds they had seen, the universes they had traversed, were not figments of their imagination or the ramblings of a dream. For a moment, reality had altered and they had lived the lives their hearts so desperately craved.

Then the wave had ended, and the world returned to as it was.

 

*  
  
Karen woke up to the soft warmth of the sun rays cascading through a gap in her curtains. She could hear the soft twitter of birds, and lay still for a moment, a smile coming to her face as she appreciated just how idyllic the sound was. She had never quite heard birds singing at her window before in New York, instead waking up to the sounds of car horns and engine revs as the city came to life around her. Her groggy mind also noted how her surroundings seemed a little different. She turned around slowly – instead of being in a studio, she was in a bedroom. It was well furnished, even if the furniture were all clearly bought cheap from IKEA. Her mind began to clear and slight panic began to rise when it began to comprehend that she was not in her home.

“Kare wake up would you!” Karen shot right up in her bed, her heart beating fast and hard now. Something was wrong. Where was she? The shout had come from outside the bedroom, and footsteps now began to approach it. _Gun._ Her mind thought immediately, but she couldn’t remember where it was. She couldn’t see her handbag anywhere.

“KARE!” The voice continued, annoyed, right outside the bedroom door. Karen stopped short. She knew that voice. The door swung open to reveal a young man, blonde locks crowning his head and his eyes a piercing blue, features all remarkably similar to her own. He was twenty years of age, turning twenty-one the next weekend. She knew, because she had been counting down to his birthday, the golden age of twenty-one, the peak of a person’s life – a life that he would never lead. Except he was here, rather than lying below the ground hundreds of miles away in a quiet cemetery in Vermont.

He was frowning, his brows furrowed. “Seriously, Kare, why are you staring at me like that? We need to get to the park early before the field is taken. You’re the one who insisted I teach you frisbee.”

He was alive. Kevin was alive and he was here, in her apartment, breathing, talking, nagging at her with his arms crossed in front of him. Even as she absorbed the impossibility of his presence, the fact of him being alive began to feel…normal. Of course he was alive, why would he not be? She had moved to New York first to find an apartment for the two of them and secure a job as a secretary at Union Allied, and he had followed after to attend NYU. The astonishment she had felt upon seeing him slowly faded to an afterthought.

“I’m so sorry Kev, had a bad dream. I’ll take 10 minutes, tops.”

“Yeah, right.” He scoffed, turning back out. “A hotdog treat if you take a second more.”

Dammit, she knew she would lose that one.

 

*  
  
Central Park was bustling with people on the cool Saturday morning. Kevin was right, the open spaces where they could have played a game of frisbee were all taken, so they settled for a spot near the carousel, making sure there were no ants to eat up the sandwiches they had brought and laughing at the squeals of little children as they whirled around on the merry-go-round. The day was bright and sunny, but the soft breeze still felt cool on her skin. She kicked off her slippers and settled down lazily on the picnic mat, even though she had gotten out of bed just the hour before.

“You pig.” Kevin snorted, tearing open a bag of chips and holding it out for her. “You said Matt and Foggy can’t make it?”

“Nope. They’ve abandoned me to go on their own respective dates, I’m no longer important to them.” Kevin scrunched up his face in disgust as she spoke through the chips she was stuffing in her mouth, muttering a “pig” again under his breath. “Don’t abandon your friends when you finally get someone to like you, Kev.”

“Why didn’t _you_ go out your boyfriend?”

Karen’s mind drew a blank as to who he was talking about, but her reply came out of her mouth automatically, as if she had teased him the same way a hundred times before. “But I’m already on a date with you.”

Kevin rolled his eyes, but then his face brightened as he noticed someone past her shoulder and began to wave. “Speak of the devil, it’s Frank!”

So it was. He was walking towards them, dressed in shorts and a cotton shirt, his face clean-shaven and a wide grin on his face. He was coming from the direction of the carousel, side-stepping little children as they ran into his path. His eyes were lit up with a kind of joy that Karen had never seen on his face before.

Wait, she had. He had always been like this. He sometimes had a hard edge to him when he talked about his time on military deployment, about the men he had had to kill, but other than that, he was all mischief and bad jokes, a cheery twinkle in his eyes that softened his otherwise rough features. Yet an image lingered in her head of a scowling Frank, cold and distant as his deep eyes bore into her. Perhaps from a dream.

“Didn’t realise you guys would be here.” His voice was as gravelly as ever, glass for breakfast as she always told him. “Hey man.” He clapped Kevin on the shoulder, before turning to Karen for a hug…and a deep kiss.

His lips were surprisingly soft, the same contrast as his eyes were to the rest of his features. She could feel the slight prick of his stubble as it began to grow out again, and her hands rested comfortably on his upper arms, strong muscles shifting and rippling underneath her fingers. The kiss lasted for just a second, but it left Karen with a warmth spreading through her body.

“Well, I’m glad you found us. Kev and I wanted to play frisbee, but… too many people to toss a disc around.”

“That’s because she refused to get out of bed.” Kevin retorted from the side. “Anyway, she was moaning about Matt and Foggy abandoning her for their other halves just now.”

Frank’s grin turned into a smirk. “Well then, luckily I decided to make this impromptu trip down to the park. I woke up feeling like I should just come here.”

 

*  
  
Frank woke up to the sound of laughter. The neighbours next door had visitors over, it seemed, because he could hear chattering and loud guffaws through the walls. He made a mental note to himself about how thin the walls were – he would have to be careful doing his business here. He slowly sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes and feeling well-rested for the first time in months, then stopped short as his brain registered his apartment.

He was covered by a thick quilt, clearly hand-sewn, which he did not have the night before, and the bed beneath him was soft and comfortable. The studio, furnished previously with minimal belongings, was filled with furniture. There was the old but functioning sofa, the coffee table littered with magazines and a monopoly board game, the television console which boasted a PS3. The kitchen counters were covered with cutlery, all forms of crockery, and boxes and tins of food. The fridge door had magnets and notes pinned on it. The dining table was bare, with his usual police radio set missing. The furnishing was still pretty minimal, but it looked welcoming, inviting and lived-in. He had clearly passed out in someone else’s home.

But you haven’t, his brain seemed to reply. This is your home. He noticed the photo of him and Karen on his bedside table and stared at it for a long time. The fuck? The two of them had their arms around one another, both their faces alive with laughter. He found it hard to breathe all of a sudden.

His home. This was his home. The fog in his mind seemed to clear a little. Of course it was. The monopoly set had been lying there since two nights before, when Karen, Matt and Foggy had come over for drinks. He knew the walls of the place were thin, because his neighbour had banged on the door at 3am to “kindly keep the noise level down sir”. The kitchen was well-stocked because he liked to cook himself meals, even if they were simple. Karen liked that, because her cooking fucking sucked.

He washed up, put a pot of coffee on and settled in on the sofa, flicking on the TV. There was an early morning re-run of Friends he liked to watch on Saturday mornings. Usually kept him occupied until lunchtime. Today however, he didn’t feel like watching it, the jokes falling flat for him. He felt restless, itching to do something, and his finger didn’t seem to be able to stop twitching. He didn’t remember his trigger finger being so bad.

Central Park – he caught the name on the show, Central Perk. He should go there. A quick glance outside told him that the day was bright and sunny. Perfect for a park outing. Maybe text Karen to come meet him on the burner phone. No, his phone. Why the hell had he thought of a burner phone? He shook his head and proceeded to change. Yes, today was a good day to go to the park.

 

*  
He liked the carousel best. He often went there, sitting at the bench in front of it and watching happy families walk past, children laughing or crying or running, eating ice-cream or begging for some. He loved children – one day, he hoped to have some of his own. Cute little critters they were.

_But you have Lisa and Frank Jr._

The thought came unbidden and disappeared as quickly as it came, only leaving him with a vague sense of confusion. Yes, he would name his children Lisa and Frank Jr. The names seemed to fit right.

A shout broke into his thoughts, and he looked over to see Kevin waving happily at him. Next to him was Karen. Frank’s heart soared at the sight of her, even if she was stuffing her face with potato chips. He chuckled, that was her all right. She still looked beautiful, blonde hair shining in the bright sun, pulled up into a loose ponytail. _Like Maria._

There it was, that weird sense of confusion. His grin still stuck to his face though – it seemed wrong not to be smiling when the day was going so well. He took in Karen’s face, beaming at him, the soft touch of her fingers on his arm as he leaned into her, the floral scent of her perfume filling the air. He had a sudden thought right before the kiss that this was wrong. That he should stop. But his body still went forward on its own accord, and her mouth was on his. Soft, sweet – he wanted to gather her into his arms, pull her in with his hand on her nape and thread his fingers through her hair. He wanted to feel the crush of her body against his, to deepen the kiss and let his tongue roam.

The kiss ended all too soon, she and Kevin speaking already. This was fucking wrong.

“- moaning about Matt and Foggy abandoning her for their other halves just now.”

It was like his brain thought one thing and the rest of him thought another, as his voice came out of his mouth by itself. “Well then, luckily I decided to make this impromptu trip down to the park. I woke up feeling like I should just come here.”

This was foreign. It wasn’t him. He was laughing and talking and his arm was around Karen’s shoulders as he settled down, but he was both there and not there. Karen leaned into his side, and her head touched his shoulder as she laughed at a joke Kevin had cracked. She looked impossibly happy, and the whole scene was perfect and blissful except it wasn’t. This was all fucking messed up shit and some maggot ass had probably popped him something in his sleep, bringing these visions up to confuse him. Stupid fucking brain doing its own shitty thing again while his consciousness slipped away.

“You okay there Frank?” Kevin asked.

Kevin, who the fucking hell was Kevin? But Frank smiled and replied. “Nah, I’m fine buddy. My brain just doesn’t wanna work on a Saturday morning.”

The three of them laughed at that, but the scene was all wrong. Out of the corner of his eye, Frank thought he noticed a reddish wave, snaking around the carousel. When he looked, it was gone. It had been like wisps of smoke, wrapping themselves around the revolving animals and the cheering children on the ride.

This felt too real though, too fucking real to be a dream. He jerked as Karen pressed her lips to his cheek. _She’s not Maria._ That name again.

“Okay, hotdog for you, more chilli, less mayo.” Karen was saying, not noticing the change in his demeanour. “Or are you finally up trying something new today?”

He stared at her for a moment, his mind whirling and unable to focus. “Actually, let me come with you.”

She looked pleased at that. “Oh, okay! Kev, you’ll be all right?”

“Yeah, yeah, you lovebirds go do your thing.”

She laughed again, so fucking happy, and took Frank’s hand, her long fingers lacing through his own. “Today’s such a gorgeous day.”

“Hm.” Karen shot him a quizzical look at his short answer but said nothing, the smile returning to her face as they weaved their way through the growing crowd towards the nearby hotdog stand.

 

*  
  
The queue for the stand was longer than usual. Karen didn’t mind the wait though. Today was just perfect and she felt like nothing could quite bring her down. A text lit up her phone screen – a message from Matt asking whether she would like to hang out with him and Foggy that night, catch a movie. She quickly replied agreeing. She had some work to do, but that could wait. Work could wait. Today was for relaxation and being with the ones she loved.

She had been so absorbed in her own happiness that it took her a while to notice Frank staring hard at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t you think something is weird here?”

“What do you mean?”

“This.” He waved a hand to indicate their surroundings. There was a slight edge to his voice – a hardness like when he talked about his military past, but something more, like barely contained anger simmering beneath the surface of his words. “Something’s off.”

Karen chuckled, because she had been doing that the whole day, and even though her mind recalled the puzzling sense of displacement from earlier that morning, it just didn’t seem important to mention it. “What is going on with you Frank?”

She reached out to take his hand again, but he jerked away before she could touch him. “Don’t.” She stared at him in confusion. “Ma’am, think.”

“Ma’am? Frank, you haven’t called me that in ages. Are you-”

“Ma’am, _think_.”

Her heart began to thud in her chest. His eyes were stone-cold, dark and glaring. It was so different from the man he usually was, but a feeling grew in her that this was him, the real him. Her smile stayed plastered to her face because she had to smile – today was just the way she wanted things to be – but her stomach was twisting and turning, her breaths feeling laboured.

“What are you saying?”

“This ain’t real. All this, none of it’s real.”

It couldn’t be true. She looked around her – people laughing, carefree and sun-kissed. Laughing. People couldn’t stop laughing, like the way she was laughing now at Frank’s words although it felt forced and fake. Why was he acting this way? He was her boyfriend, the man she loved, and they were at Central Park on a sunny Saturday morning. That was real.

“I thought it was a dream, but all of this feels too fucking real. Something’s up.”

“No…no it can’t be real.” Frank raised a questioning eyebrow at her. She swallowed thickly. “It can’t be real because…Kevin. He’s-“ She turned to look at her brother, sitting in the distance, his blonde hair ruffling in the wind. “He can’t be here.”

Frank’s expression shifted, understanding dawning on his face. He whispered a name under his breath. “Maria.”

The cool air began to deaden into a stifling heat. Her skin scrawled, and the scene in front of her began to waver. There was something wrong. She abandoned the queue, stepping forward back towards Kevin, suddenly feeling like she needed to be at his side, touching him and holding him.

“Ma’am.” Frank’s voice was soft, sad. His fingers brushed against her arm as he tried to grab her arm, but she was already breaking into a slow jog towards her brother. She had to go there.

“Kevin.” Her throat was extremely dry, so it came out in a croak. Her heart began to pound in her chest and her steps picked up pace. She called out more strongly, “Kevin.”

He was too far to hear her and there were too many people in between them. None seemed to notice her panicked state, all in their own world, enjoying the summer day. She called out his name again, then again. Her vision wavered once more. His body seemed blurred at the edges, like he was fading. What she could only describe as red smoke, no, red tendrils, began to curl around his body, but he remained unaware, eyes on the book in his hand.

“Look up, Kevin.” She cried out. “Look up. Look up. Kevin, please look up!”

He was fading faster, the tendrils now wrapped around his body, and still he hadn’t moved. He hadn’t moved an inch, except for the ruffle of his blonde hair in the wind. She wanted so much to see his face, so hear his voice. She broke into a full run, the last twenty yards in between them, her hands stretched out towards him.

“Kevin, don’t go! KEVIN.”

She felt onto her knees beside him, hands wide out to grab him in a hug, but her fingers found thin air and gripped the picnic mat instead. He was gone. He had been there one second and he was gone.

 

*  
  
Karen sat up straight in bed, hands gripping her blanket. It was dark in the apartment, the only light provided by the streetlamp outside. The plasters on the wall were peeling off, whole chunks missing where the bullets holes had ripped them apart. The apartment was bare except for piles of notes, files, and photographs of evidence littering the floor. There was no sound, no voice calling her name, no singing of birds, except for the occasional honk from a car in the distance. She was alone, so very alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Hope you enjoyed it. This is going to be a turning point in their relationship, so look forward to the next chapter!
> 
> Also, on a different note, I'm thinking of expanding this chapter into a full fic heh. Would be fun to see Frank and Karen stuck in a different universe where they have conflicting feelings of being lovers while retaining part of their selves from real life.


	5. Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone who commented or left kudos on this work again. This chapter was a bit difficult for me to write because the conversations just didn't seem to be flowing organically, but reading the comments left here (and the tags when people reblogged the fic on tumblr - I see them!) really pushed me on to finish writing it. It's 2.20am now and wayyy too late to still be writing (or...is this the perfect time to write? heh) but I think I'm fairly content with how it eventually turned out. 
> 
> So thanks guys, I couldn't have done this without all your support, and I hope I didn't screw this chapter up too much!

 

Karen made the decision the following weekend to drive down to Vermont, to visit Kevin’s grave. The whole of the east coast had been inundated by thunderstorms for the past week, and it showed no signs of letting up, but Karen was set on going. It was his birthday, and she hadn’t returned to his grave for nearly 5 years now, not since the first time he had been laid there. Her parents had long since moved away from Vermont to the West Coast, and a visit to them was long overdue too, but she didn’t think she could handle more than one family reunion at a time.

She had been unsettled ever since she woke up from that dream the previous weekend. It clung to her like the scent of onion to a knife. She couldn’t recall its entirety, but the main instances were there – Kevin beside her, grown up into a handsome young man, the endless blue skies and sea of joyous laughter, Frank leaning in to her, pressing his mouth deep against her own. It’s not like she hadn’t dreamt all of this before – even the part where Frank had kissed her – but she had always written these off as the crazy workings of a sleeping brain.

This time was different. It was as if these were real memories, and all that had happened was that she had gone to sleep before waking up. She didn’t know what had triggered such a response, but perhaps it was latent guilt over having stayed away from him for so long. Perhaps it was penance.

A part of her also wanted to make sure that Kevin had not actually walked out of the grave and was living, breathing somewhere. It was crazy, mad, irrational, but it was there all the same.

So when there was a brief respite in the showers, she quickly phoned a car rental service to confirm that there was a car free for hire. She called Matt and Foggy to tell them that she would be heading back to Vermont for the weekend – they raised no questions, not knowing about her family, and she felt a stab of guilt. She dropped Ellison a text to let him know as well. Lastly, she held the burner phone in her hand, hesitating before shooting Frank a text. She wasn't quite sure he would give a shit, but she'd rather as many people knew about the trip. The consequence of exposing criminals on a regular basis was that expecting death to come knocking at her door also became a regular thing. 

**Heading to Vermont for the weekend, visiting family, will be back tomorrow night.**

The text came back right before she headed out of the house.

**11th and 48th?**

Something tight pooled deep in her gut.

**Yeah.**

 

*  
  
He didn’t appear until she had gotten the car keys and the rental staff had left. She wished he hadn’t come, she didn't even know why he wanted to meet her. His presence triggered memories of the sensation of his lips, soft and warm, and she had to turn away from him to put her bags in the back seat to distract herself. She couldn’t ignore his presence forever, so after fiddling with the zip on her bag for long as possible without looking too suspicious, she finally steeled herself and faced him.

“What is it?”

Now that she actually took a look at him, it was obvious off the bat that he wasn’t his usual self. There was a wariness and confusion in his eyes, and he seemed almost unsure of himself, shoulders slouched slightly. It was less the Punisher and more of Frank Castle, the way he had been when she first met him. It brought a pang of nostalgia, which was laughable – feeling sad over her lost camaraderie with a convicted murderer.

When he spoke, his tone was significantly less harsh from their previous meeting. “What does Fisk have on you?”

She raised an eyebrow, surprised at his question. “I thought you didn’t want to know.”

“I didn’t, not unless it would affect…” He hesitated. “Not unless it was important.”

The turnabout in attitude was unsettling. “It’s not.” She said slowly, trying to get a read on him but failing besides the fact that he looked slightly defeated. “You could have just asked me on the phone you know.”

Karen felt a drop of water on her face and glanced up at the sky. It was darkening ominously with rain clouds again. Dammit. She needed to get moving. Traffic would be hell if she got caught in the storm before she exited the city. He didn't seem to care though, and continued. 

“Does it have anything to do with this trip to Vermont?”

“What? No. It doesn’t.”

He didn’t believe her. “You sure about that?”

“I’m just visiting family.” There was a glimmer in his eyes at those words, and a small slight of the head that alerted her to his awareness of something. “What do you know Frank?”

“I know your brother passed already.”

The wind was knocked out of her, and she gaped at him. His face had a tight mask over it, but he still looked slightly ashamed. Her shock was quickly replaced by anger. She sputtered out, “W-were you researching into my past? Goddammit Frank, you could just have been honest about wanting to know Fisk’s hold on me.”

“I didn’t do that.”

“Then how the hell do you know about my brother?”

_Because you told him. You told him that it can’t be real because Kevin can’t be here, he can’t be alive._

She shook the thought out of her head. That had been a dream and this was reality. Frank's mask had come over even more strongly now, his expression inscrutable, as if he had realised that he had said too much. She couldn’t figure out how he could have found out about Kevin unless he had actively tried to look into it, and the only one who could have told him was her. There couldn’t be anyone else.

“I didn’t pry into your past.”

Despite her anger, she believed him. His tone was direct and open, and notwithstanding his offensive behaviour towards her lately, if there was one good thing she had to say about him, it had to be that he was at least honest.

Karen also reminded herself that she lived in a world where portals opened up and aliens invaded the city from other realms. Where men could be frozen in ice for seven decades and a man could don a red iron suit and fly around. Maybe the dream had been real – some sort of alternate universe that attacked her in her sleep. And if it had been real, then Frank would have met Kevin, and he would have kissed her. He would remember it, just like she did. Maybe that explained his presence, his frazzled demeanour and his willingness to communicate with her in person. The after effects of whatever the hell had happened lingering and softening his hardened mind.

She wanted to ask him about it, but the words died in her throat. His cruel words at their last meeting came back to her. 

“Fisk has nothing to do with this. It’s the fifth anniversary of my brother’s death, that’s why I’m going back. So you don’t have to worry, it won’t compromise anything.”

He let her go after that. 

 

*

He berated himself for meeting her in person, letting himself go soft again with her, just like how he hadn’t been able to help himself from seeking her out after six months of good behaviour. Nothing good could come out of that. He had made a promise to himself to get rid of all the distractions in his life, Karen Page being the number one on that list. It had been the other Frank who had acted, the one who he had been in that alternate universe with no Maria, no Lisa, no Frank Jr. Where the person who lit up his world was Karen Page.

The rain began to come down fast after she drove off, but Frank didn’t give a shit. He walked back to the safe house in the rain, his mind taking note of every raindrop that streamed down his face until they became too many to count in one go. The feelings from the vision still stirred in him – the bliss of living a life free of murder and crime, where he had a proper bed to sleep in, cooked himself meals and went to work, and had friends and a woman who loved him more than anything. It collided with the rage boiling inside him at his own weaknesses, the guilt of missing a life devoid of his family – his real family – the bloodthirst that coursed through him. He wanted to pull the trigger and metaphorically kill every emotion he ever felt.

Thunder and lightning loomed above, and Frank was soaked down to his bones by the next block. He trudged ahead, uncaring. For the first time in a long while, he felt the weight of his own lonely existence come crashing down on him.

 

*

“You want me to punch the truth out of the governor.”

“Yep.”

Even with the mask on, Frank could tell the incredulous expression on Murdock’s face.

“Frank, I can’t just punch the governor of New York.”

“Why not? That’s what you do right? Give people the one-two and get them to talk.”

“Well you like to beat people to death and hope they give you answers before passing on, why don’t you do it?”

“Because unlike you, I’m officially dead. And I’d like it to stay that way even if no one believes that shit anymore.”

The two of them were in a covered stairwell leading down from the rooftop. They had been forced to shift indoors after the downpour started afresh during the middle of their talk. Hell, it was like date night. Murdock talking lovingly about morals and justice, and Frank being the dutiful boyfriend listening and nodding and not giving a fuck. It was almost romantic, what with the never-ending rain pounding outside.

“Karen should never have told you about this.”

“Well, she was right. You need my help if you’re going to bring Fisk down. I’ve been fiddling my thumbs waiting for you guys to get shit done, but it seems you can’t do a freaking job right.”

“Do you treat her well?”

Frank did a double take at the sudden turn in conversation. “What the hell? We’re talking about the governor here.”

“Don’t be an ass when you’re with her, Frank.”

Realisation dawned on him. “You’ve been listening to us.” Matt said nothing to defend himself, and Frank huffed in frustration. Leave it to the guy to be a fucking creep. He wouldn't put it past him to have come after Frank just to lecture him on a How to Treat Karen Page 101.

“Not gonna ask me to stay away from your girl, Red?”

“She’s not my girl.” Matt’s voice sounded sad, his lips pressed into a thin line. “She’s not mine to protect…I’m not sure she ever was.”

Frank rolled his eyes. The conversation had reached a territory neither was willing to venture into. He sure as hell was not in the mood to be giving love tips right now. It was one topic he was steering clear of, preferably until the day he drew his dying breath. He was no longer affected by the visions as much, the sensations and images no longer so vivid, but he didn’t like being reminded of them.

Matt, on the other hand, looking like a kicked puppy. It made Frank want to kick him even more. Before he actually did swing a leg out, Frank preemptively stepped away towards the door. It might be raining cats and dogs out there, but being drowned was preferable to this.

“Look, either Drews is a piece of shit or Fisk is threatening to blow his brains out, hurt his family, whatever. Find out why, or else I’m gonna shoot the bloody guy before he signs the paper.”

“Frank, shooting is not the right -”

“Shut up, Red. Don’t give shit about what you want to say.”

He paused before he let himself out. “And fine, I’ll try not to be an ass.”

 

*

He made himself comfortable in the last seat of the diner, his back to the wall so that he had a good vantage view of the entrance, kitchens and windows. It was unlikely anyone would try to make a move in this diner – it was filled with college kids and young couples – but he didn’t like to take his chances on anything. His gun rested on the set beside him, snug up against the corner so that no one could grab or see it. Outside, the storm raged on, raindrops making loud smacks against the window. Every so often, there was a bright flash and thunder would roll over. Even the racket made by the boisterous kids couldn’t seem to block it out.

Karen entered the diner right on the dot at 9pm, shaking out her umbrella and half-soaked. Still, she looked better than she had a few days back, when she had cut a sorry figure heading out to Vermont. He noted that he was able to look at her without the whirlwind of emotions that had plagued him in the week after the vision. It was a welcome relief.

She slid into the seat opposite without a word. She pulled out a file from her bag immediately and got straight to business, not meeting his eyes. “These are the transcripts of the interview with the prison guard. I think I might have also found a link between a company that supported Drews’ election and Fisk, but the link is pretty tenuous.”

“Yeah, look, I uh, I need to say something.”

Karen looked at him questioningly, looking a little cautious. “Yeah?”

Frank Castle did not do apologies. It was one thing that he and Maria had fought about constantly. He did not like to say sorry – the way he saw it, if he screwed up, he would just not screw up again. Maria had called bullshit on that, saying that it was his goddamn pride and his big ego that equaled the size of New York City speaking. He was, as described in one of her more colourful diatribes, a two-bit nobody who thought shit about himself and couldn’t admit his own two-bit problems.

He took a deep swig from the mug of black coffee in front of him, waving a hand to the waitress for a refill. Karen was beginning to look nonplussed. Shit, part of him never grew up. He finally decided to draw the line at actually saying “sorry”.

“I was an ass to you.”

Karen’s jaw nearly dropped. "Wow, what brought about this change of behaviour?”

“I realised I was being an ass to you.”

An amused smile tugged at the corner of her lips, but she looked to be fighting it. “That’s quite profound there, Frank.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a philosophical man.”

The smile broke through then, and it felt like a weight had lifted slightly off Frank’s shoulders. This was going easier than he had expected. His experience with Maria had geared him for battle coming into this conversation. The storm outside had even lent a dramatic air to the whole thing. He had forgotten how easily conversation could flow with Karen, how effortlessly the smiles came to their faces. He cleared his throat.

“I wasn’t lying before. I don’t intend for you to be anything more than my source. I don’t…I can’t have distractions.” Her face softened, but she looked understanding. His heart skipped a beat. He had to do something about _that_. “But...I won’t be rude about it.”

Karen nodded slowly, chewing her bottom lip. “I guess I’ll take that.”

She made to continue talking about Fisk after that, pushing a piece of paper towards him, but he stopped her, pressing his fingers to the sheet.

“And I’m sorry about your brother.”

She didn’t reply immediately, her lips quivering and her eyes wide at the sudden mention of him. They were interrupted for a moment when the waitress arrived with a pot of coffee and asked for Karen’s order. It was just as well, because she looked calmer after the waitress left. 

“Thanks.”

“You’re not gonna ask me how I knew about him?”

She shook her head, a sad smile playing on her lips. “It doesn’t matter. I...He’s…” She took a deep breath. “I hid the fact for a long time, but I’ve made peace with it. You can know.”

They held each other’s gaze, and Frank was transported back to the previous year, when they had sat together in the same diner, looking at each other the same way. He admired her. Fuck, she was stupid and reckless, but she was had clearly been through some shit and was still fighting on. He broke away first, picking up the paper she had pushed towards him and studying the figures on it.

“Frank?” She was still looking at him, but the sadness had left her face. “I think the word you were looking for is “sorry”.”

He glared at her.

“Not happening, ma’am. Don’t push it.”

Outside, the storm was finally subsiding, the sound of the rain lessening to a comforting drizzle.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really couldn't help including Matt in this fic. Frank/Matt is one of my favourite relationships on the show, and the conversation had actually been a lot longer and funnier, before I reminded myself this is supposed to be a Kastle fic haha I also had a sweet Matt/Karen conversation written down for this, but I'll leave that for a Karedevil fic. Heh (multi-shipping is the best guys)


	6. Burn

“You sure about this?”

“Yes. I’m certain that these shipments are linked to Fisk. Foggy and I made the link after Matt snuck into Drews office and got a bunch of letters that lead a trail through all these off-shore companies, and it is _huge_ , I’m talking–”

“All right, all right. I’m sure the Three Musketeers are correct.”

Frank had been more willing to meet her in person these days, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t a complete grouch sometimes. Their meetings in various diners were quick and strictly business, and he always motioned for her to leave once they had finished exchanging information. He never left first, and she felt his eyes on her until the moment she entered a cab safely.

Karen ran her fingers through her hair. This was the last link of the puzzle. She had already compiled a list of Drews' offshore companies and the monies they held, but if they could just confirm that the containers at the port were importing illegal goods, it would put the final nail in the coffin. Frank and Matt would be heading down to the docks once the shipment came in, and she might just have enough time to pull all the threads together and expose Drews’ carefully hidden corruption before he signed the letter allowing Fisk out of prison. They had just two weeks left. Nightmares of Fisk’s fingers gripped hard around her neck were becoming far too frequent, and her eyebags were so bad that Foggy had compared her to a panda.

Frank was watching her. He must have seen exhaustion etched into every line on her face. His was no better, but he always looked like that. “You should get more sleep.”

“Don’t worry about me.” Karen had a stifle a yawn even as she said that. “I’ll be fine.”

“I can’t have you getting shot while your guard is down. You’re the one who has to write this article. Get some sleep.”

Such a romantic, Karen thought bitterly. Before she knew it, she had shifted in her seat and called out for a cup of coffee.

“What are you doing?”

“Hm? Getting coffee.”

“No, you’re leaving. You can drink coffee at your house.” His voice was hard and gruff, and if it had been any other person, they would probably be scared shitless. Except Karen knew he would never hurt her.

“You can go ahead. I’ll be fine here.”

Something flashed across his face, although his expression quickly returned to being unreadable.

“Not leaving?”

His finger began to twitch. It was a tell-tale sign that he was anxious about something.

“You know, you’ll never be able to play poker with that finger.”

“It’s late.”

“I have you here. People won’t try a thing.”

“It’s because I’m here that people will try a thing.”

“Then you better leave first.”

He glowered at her. Karen knew she was pushing the boundaries between them. She had so far respected the line he had drawn between them and treated him in the same manner as all her other sources. Meaning, she would hardly have stayed behind to have a cup of coffee with anyone feeding her information. It was reckless and dangerous, and risked exposing either one of them to danger.

Yet Frank had always been an exception. He had first been her client, except he hadn’t – she had gotten emotionally invested in the case and let it consume her life. He had been, _was_ , a convicted felon who escaped from prison and whom she should have reported, _should report_ , to the police when he came to her, except she hadn’t. She had rejected both the police and Matt’s help to seek protection from Frank instead. He had told her to stay away from him before being killed in an explosion. Except he wasn’t. He had come back from the dead to play his bloody song on her radio and save her life. When he had declared himself a dead man, that, at least, should have ended their relationship. Only here they were, half a year later, sitting together in a diner.

The tension was thick when the waiter came over with her coffee. He seemed to sense it and quickly retreated from the table.

Frank finally gave up the fight and breathed out heavily, leaning back in his seat. “Fine, drink your coffee. After this, you’re going to take a cab and go home.”

“Okay.”

It touched her, how he refused to leave her alone. She usually got annoyed at Ellison, Matt or Foggy when they became over-protective, but she had recently accepted their extra attention, even giving the go-ahead for Matt to follow her from the rooftops if he wanted. Her nerves were fried from the deep conviction in her gut that Fisk knew about Wesley, that there was a gun trained on her wherever she walked, just waiting for the right moment to pull the trigger. It calmed her slightly to know that there were people looking out for her.

The coffee was steaming hot, so while she waited for it to cool, she scrutinised the man sitting opposite her. Frank’s face was free of bruises, finally. There were a few faint scars healing by the side of his jaw, but he was clean besides that. He was in his favourite attire of jacket and cap, and she wondered whether people in New York City were actually fooled by that disguise, if she could even call it that. She guessed it was more likely to be a case of people looking in the opposite direction or closing both eyes to the truth. After all, the Punisher’s presence meant less crime.

He looked annoyed that she was staring at him so blatantly, but he stubbornly upheld his moratorium on speaking to her more than was absolutely necessary. The man was the body corporeal of contradictions – he was cruel, ruthless and forgiving, yet he had made it a sole purpose of his life to direct those energies to punishing criminals and protecting the innocent. He steadfastly pushed her away and rejected any attempt to engage him, yet he clearly cared enough about her safety to sit with her in a diner, waiting for her to finish a cup of coffee, even though he looked like he would rather be anywhere else in the world. She tried to imagine someone else in her position, another source, female also perhaps, and whether he would do the same. He had claimed before that he would. She opened her mouth to ask the question again, now that he slightly more pliable than a piece of wood, but an entirely different question popped out.

“Do you want to know what Fisk has on me?”

He didn’t show any sign of surprise at her abrupt query. “Not really.”

Nothing had changed then, since the last time they had this conversation in his van – she still wanted nothing more than to admit the truth of her crimes, and he still wanted nothing to do with it. She felt like a fool. She was practically neck deep in an operation against Fisk, and here she was trying to find a listening ear for something Fisk would definitely, definitely personally murder her for if he could. Maybe she was confessing her crime to someone before it was buried forever with her.

“You killed someone right?”

Even though she had practically been goading him into it, hearing the words spoken still paralysed her. Her brain buzzed. He narrowed his eyes, and answered her unspoken question.

“It was written all over your face, that time back last year. You said it wasn’t your first rodeo.”

“But Fisk-” Her voice rasped out and she had to try again, even then her voice coming out in a low whisper. “But why would you connect it to Fisk.”

He shrugged. “Lucky guess. Struck gold though. Thought it might have been cos you and your lawyer friends threw him in jail, but nah, it had to be something more.”

He was so casual about it. She had spent the better part of the past year haunted by the murder she had committed and it was barely a drop in the bucket for him. She glanced over her shoulders, paranoid that someone had overheard them. There was no one in the diner except for another couple, who were buried in their own corner making out. No one was nearby.

“He’s not gonna get out.”

His voice held such an air of finality that tears sprang unbidden to her eyes. “How do you know that?”

The corner of his lips were turned up, lending his face a cruel edge. “Trust me.”

 

*

Frank ended up driving her back to her apartment. He had stood up from the booth at the same time at her after she had finished her coffee. It threw her off-course. That wasn’t their usual modus operandi. When they exited the diner to the cool night air, he held up an arm, and for a moment she thought he was flagging a cab for her. Turned out he was pointing.

“Van’s over on that corner.”

That was all he had offered before stalking off across the road. She had gaped at his back for a solid few seconds before hurrying after him.

The ride back had been wordless, but she didn’t mind. Unlike the previous time, the silence was not awkward, and in any case, she was lost in her own thoughts – someone else in this world knew what she had done. She had borne the weight of her transgression for so long and now someone else knew about it. She didn't know how to feel about it. That now made two of them who knew her secret, or three, if Fisk had found out what had happened.

It turned out he had. After she exited the van, throwing Frank a small smile of thanks and shutting the door behind her, a burst of pain exploded in her chest. Her body crashed back against the van door, a sudden force knocking against her. She was gasping, her hand clutching the source of the pain which wouldn't stop. Her first thought was that she had had a heart attack, that she was too young to have a heart attack and that he didn't hit with such impact, did it - until she held her hand up in front of her face and saw all the sticky red paint sketched all over it. Blood. It was blood. A cacophony of noises erupted, _bullets_ she vaguely registered, but then all was black.

 

*

Frank stared at his hands. They were caked in blood, Karen’s blood. His heartbeat was going wild, thudding against his chest with such force that he was sure his ribcage would finally give way. Think about that, the Punisher gets done in by his own heart. Criminals ain’t got nothing on that. His shoulder was bleeding - he should've been dead too - but he barely felt any pain. Everything was just numb.

“Frank!”

It was Murdock, no, the Devil. His mask was still on. He was holding Karen in his arms, standing on the steps of Metro-General. “Don’t do anything.”

“Get her in.” Was all Frank snarled out before he drove off.

 

*  
Frank had only vague recollections of the months after his family's shooting. The cold, bare hospital bed, hooked up to all those fancy ass machines which beeped every few seconds and set him on edge, the sensation of this huge, unfillable, gaping void in his life. Dreaming of his children’s laughter and his wife’s smile. Maria. Lisa. Frank Jr. He spoke their names again and again in his mind, nothing else processing, nothing else could be processed. The pain had been too much. Not the hole in his head. Fuck, that was nothing. Nothing in comparison to the knowledge that everything that had meant something to him was gone, destroyed, never coming back.

Then one day he had woken up, and the pain had been replaced by something only slightly different.

Rage.

The rage had fueled him. Oh it had. It was like new life was breathed into him. It had been addictive. Still was. Pulling the trigger again and again and watching dead criminals fall like a set of dominoes. He had taken their bodies and hung them on meat hooks and a savage part of him had laughed in their faces. This is what they deserved. Little maggots crawling in the dirty underbelly of New York.

But that rage had eventually burned away. A drilling through your foot tends to do that. And it had left behind a scarred, charred, broken mess, and the question dawned on him on why he had done all this. He could have gone back to his house. He could have laid in his bed, smelled in the remaining scent of Maria, looked at all the toys and the piano and the little drawings on the wall and made his peace. The terrible truth of his own actions had ripped him from inside as he lay in a hospital bed _again_ , staring at the photo of his family, the carousel that marked the destruction of his life a backdrop to a happy, smiling snapshot. Why?

Karen Page had messed everything up. She had been the only one who had given a shit about him – not him as the Punisher or him as a sad victim of a corrupt system – but him as he was. He had felt the soft touch of her love in a now-fading vision. He had wanted to keep her alive, protect her. He had shut the door on her, yet as soon as she had knocked a little harder on it, he had opened it right again. She was the carrot, he was the fucking horse. She was the flame, he was the moth.

And now her blood was on his hands.

 

*  
A sound behind him jerked Frank out of his chair, his hand reaching to the gun at his waist. He lowered it again when he had rounded on the intruder. It was only Micro. He was standing in the middle of the living room, hands clutching a large black bag at his side. The man had let himself into the safe house without Frank noticing a thing. How deep had he been in his thoughts? Micro looked to be thinking the same thing, a deep frown etched across his features. Frank usually caught him as soon as his footsteps sounded on the stairwell outside.

“You brought the ammunition?”

Micro lifted the bag in answer, then came over to the table to set it down. Frank yanked the zip open. The bag was filled to the brim with boxes of bullets, each labelled with the gun model in Micro’s messy scrawl. He ripped open a box and tipped a bullet into his palm. His hand was shaking.

Fuck. He quickly closed it into a fist, but Micro had seen it. The man’s frown deepened. Frank pushed himself off the table and headed to the other end of the apartment before he could speak. Whatever Micro wanted to say, he didn’t want to hear it.

“You need to calm down.”

“Shut it.”

“Fisk knows what’s going on already.”

“I said shut it.”

A few seconds of silence passed.

“You need to remember-"

Frank wheeled around, but Micro pressed on before he could do anything.

“You burnt your house down.” Frank stopped short. Micro licked his lips, nervous. He was not above voicing his opinions, but he had rarely defied any outright directions from Frank. “You…you did it because the past doesn’t matter to you anymore. All that matters is the mission.”

Frank stood still. He hated being analysed - it pissed the shit out of him - but the man's words spoke to him.

“You came to me, and asked me to help you, make sure that what happened to my son never happened to anyone else again. The mission, you said. That’s all that was important.” He paused, and when Frank still didn’t say anything, he continued, his voice stronger. “You thought the mission was all you needed to keep going, but you’re only human, Frank. You got lonely, you sought the reporter out. It’s the same reason you let the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen chase you down. You want the company, even if you don’t admit it to yourself. But _you can’t forget the mission_.”

Micro picked up a random gun off the table, strode over and held it out to Frank, a sort of ultimatum.

Frank hesitated. He didn’t trust his hand not to shake. Micro thrust the gun towards him again, a defiant look on his face. The mission. _We don’t get to pick the things that fix us, Red._

He took the gun, his fingers closing around the barrel of the gun before flipping it around to grab it by the grip. He felt powerful, in control, in his element. His finger touched the trigger and jerked a little, responding to the feel of the cool metal against his fingertips. Frank wanted to pull it, to hear the bang and feel the force against his arm from the recoil. He had to make a choice again, this time, a final one.

“Let’s go.”

 

*  
The news hit headlines the next morning. The governor had been shot dead as he left his office late last night. His briefcase had been hacked open and his office ransacked. Next to his body were two letters – one was a list of offshore companies, presumably controlled by Drews, and details of the massive amounts of money stored under their names; the second was a letter ready to grant Wilson Fisk early parole, unsigned as of yet and soaked in the governor’s blood. A number of bodies, all shot in the head, were found on rooftops surrounding the office. They were unidentifiable and not part of the governor's bodyguards. It was possible that they were independent contractors hired to protect him. An emergency committee had been formed to look into the possibility of corruption, although a spokesperson said that there was no clear evidence as of yet that the companies were linked to Drews. Nevertheless, Fisk’s parole review had been postponed indefinitely.

A small piece below the main story reported on the shooting of one of the Bulletin’s own, a Miss Karen Page.

The police were unable to point to any suspects as of yet for both cases. They did not comment on whether this was the work of the Punisher or a copycat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cut out the fight scene, but I'll expound on it in the next (and last!!) chapter. :)


	7. Lasts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is an epilogue of sorts. Enjoy!

 

“I was right there when he shot you. I'd just landed on the rooftop when he pulled the trigger. Knocked the sniper out of his hands before he could get another shot in. There was someone else there too, I think he might have been on another building, tried to finish the business with Frank. Hit him in the shoulder, he had bad aim." Matt smiled mirthlessly. "Frank’s was better. The guy stood no chance.”

“The police said there were no suspects.”

“That's the thing. I knocked the guy out. The other one was dead already. They weren’t my priority. I ran down to find you and rushed you to the hospital. I…” Matt trailed off for a second, his face scrunching up as if he would cry. He took a moment to compose himself. “They were gone by the time I got back there with the police. Even the blood had been wiped clean. It had barely been an hour.”

“The Governor was being protected by Fisk’s men. They weren’t there before, I would have heard them. They haven’t attacked me, so they must have only known you and Frank were in it. Maybe they overheard the two of you talking.”

She exhaled, tired already from just listening to him. Matt cocked his head to one side, smiling wanly. “I know you aren’t going to stop the good fight, but can you at least treat yourself to a break?”

In the past, Karen would have immediately rebuffed him. Now, she didn’t have the energy.

“Okay.”

 

*

Karen sat at a bench on a pathway just in front of the carousel. She had been waiting there for the past hour. It was nearly midnight, and the park was quickly emptying. Only a few giggling couples strayed past, arms wrapped around one another as they cuddled up tight to fight the cold. In another lifetime, she could have been one of those couples. In another lifetime, she wouldn't be the survivor of multiple shootings. She raised a hand and gingerly touched her chest – each time she expected a burst of pain to shoot through her, stars to explode in her vision. Each time she felt nothing more than the pressure of her own fingers, soft and cautious.

She had been in the ICU for the better part of a week before the doctors had finally declared it safe to move her out. The bullet had not hit any vital organs, having lodged itself in her ribcage instead and shattering the bones into pieces. She had remained in the hospital for a week longer before she was allowed to continue her month-long bedrest at home. Foggy had refused to let her stay by herself and set up his extra room for her. She didn’t mind. He had been wonderful.

Karen was unable to muster up any emotion at Drews’ murder. It had been front page news for weeks after, and every day she had just glazed over it, uninterested. A part of her knew that she should be outraged, but it had been hard to care about much since the shooting. The whole world seemed mundane and lifeless. She had caught Matt looking at her worriedly a few times. He had wisely refrained from broaching the subject except to gently push her to leave the city for a while. Foggy had been more overt - he had offered to mortgage his parents' home to fund a 2 months' cruise for her through the Atlantic. 

Ellison had forced her to hand over all the information she had gathered on the operation since she had been in no state to write the article herself. They gave her due credit, and the reporter who took the case in her stead was gracious enough to visit Karen a few times to keep her in the loop. The story was not quite the exposé anymore, after Drews’ murder had thrown the whole thing into the public space. Karen swallowed her pride - if the truth was revealed, that should be enough. 

Frank had been missing the whole time. She had asked after him just once, right after she had woken up from the surgery. Matt had claimed he hadn't seen him since - she couldn't tell whether he was lying. Anyway, she hadn't been sure she wanted to see him. A part of her wanted to keep the last meeting of them together as it was – the man who had passed no judgment on her past, who had waited for her to drink her coffee and walked her out of a diner and driven her home. The next meeting would be different. He would be back to the Punisher. She wanted to keep the little of Frank Castle that she had left. She had dialed his number on the burner phone one day only to be informed that the number no longer existed. She threw her own burner away after that. 

It was only when her bags had been packed, her tickets ready on the bedside table to whisk her out of the city, that she realised the date. She was no longer sure she believed in a God, but the coincidence was too much. If this was a sign that she should extend an olive branch one last time, this was it. 

Now she set at the carousel, on the anniversary of his family’s death, glancing around herself multiple times to make sure she didn’t miss his presence. This was the only place and time she could hope to catch him. Sure, he had burned his house down and buried his past, but he couldn’t ignore this date. She didn’t think he would. At least on one day of the entire year, he had to acknowledge his past. She had a bouquet of lilies beside her on the bench – a symbol of sympathy, the florist had told her.

As the minutes ticked pass, the park got progressively emptier and colder. She knew she didn't have a chance of catching him if he didn’t want to be caught. She just had to hope he would want to see her face.

It was about 2am when she heard the heavy thuds of boots on the concrete pathway. It had grown fairly chilly by then, and Karen’s healing ribs were aching. She felt like an old lady with aching bones in the winter cold. He appeared around the bend, in full Punisher attire, the white skull prominent even among the darkened path. It was like Death incarnate was walking towards her, the Grim Reaper coming to tell her that he had made a mistake, she would have to come with him after all, sorry he had kept her waiting for so long. 

He didn’t show any reaction to her presence – he had already seen her then. Instead, he simply sat down on the bench next to her, his posture surprising laidback.

“You really have a death wish.”

This was Frank Castle’s voice, the one with the mischief buried layers underneath the gruffness, the one that hinted at the man he used to be. “Well, I am Lady Luck, remember?”

“That you are. People don’t survive gunshot wounds to the chest.”

“Yet here I am.”

“Yeah, sitting alone in an empty park at 2am, asking to be shot again.”

She supposed he was right. It was beyond reckless what she was doing. She hadn’t even brought her gun with her. However, like with everything else in her life since the shooting, she just didn’t care. Perhaps the real damage done by the bullet had not been to her bones or to her organs – maybe somehow her emotional capacity had been shot to pieces too.

“I’m sorry for coming here tonight. I didn’t mean to intrude, I just didn’t know how else I should contact you.” Her voice sounded flat, emotionless. She shouldn’t sound like that talking about his family.

“You could’ve passed Red a message.” He didn’t sound angry. She would have been, if he had turned up at Kevin’s grave, what more if he had turned up talking like a zombie. She had even gotten mad that he’d known about Kevin when she had broken into his house and pried into every corner of his life. What a hypocrite. She was a goddamn hypocrite.

“I didn’t want to involve him. Besides, I decided to come here on the spur of the moment.”

Frank said nothing to that, thankfully. She half-expected him to launch into a monologue about love again, but she supposed that that was expecting too much of him, even if he was sitting next to her speaking in Frank Castle’s voice. Death incarnate, the Punisher. He was just putting on the Frank Castle mask for her. Maybe he had some split personality that he could switch into, or an emotional off-switch that he could flick whenever he wanted. 

She became aware that he was studying her carefully. She hadn’t looked at him since he sat down – had she looked at him when she mentioned his family? That was rude.

“You’re in shock.” She looked at him then, hearing the words but not really registering it. His brows were furrowed. “Saw it happen all the time during the war. I can tell from people’s tones.”

Did it matter?

“I’m leaving New York for a few weeks.” He blinked at the change in subject, but made no attempt to change it back. “Heading to California to meet my parents, then I’m heading to Europe. Can you believe that? I’ve never left the States before.”

“Hm. I went there once as a Marine.”

“How was it?”

“English.”

Karen barked out a small laugh. “I’m sure that encapsulates Europe.”

Silence settled between them again. She traced the animals on the carousel – the cartoonish features, the bright colours, the smiling faces. She thought back to a time when she had ridden something like it herself, a carnival back in Vermont, the world going round and round and everything a blur. Her world had never quite stopped spinning – only instead of laughing and feeling like she was on top of the world, she was jaded, cynical and emotionally wrecked.

“Why are you being nice to me Frank?”

“Hm?”

“You didn’t come to see me the whole time I was recovering. I know you made a decision again that night, that our little…thing wasn’t working out after all.”

“I thought you wanted to see me.”

“I also understand why you wouldn’t want to. So I’m glad you did, but why are you being nice about it?”

A beat passed.

“Because this is the last time we’re going to be talking like this, and I want the memory to be a good one for you. You deserve that at least.”

She had expected him to say this was their last meeting. She just hadn’t expected him to say _that_. Karen’s eyes stung, tears threatening to form. Well, at least her emotional capacity hadn’t been completely destroyed. She turned away to shield her face – she had had enough of crying in front of people.

“Why do you care so much about me?” His voice was low, so low. Ellison had asked her the same thing once. She couldn’t remember the answer. She wasn’t sure if she even had an answer, so she replied with the first thing that came to her mind.

“Because the ones that can really hurt you are the ones that are close enough to do it. So grab it with both hands and don’t let go.”

She glanced at him. His face was impassive.

“That doesn’t apply to me.” He said flatly.

“Nice exception you carved out there for yourself.”

“It doesn’t explain why I am close to you.”

“That just means your rule is incomplete. Time to brush up on it.”

He smiled, involuntarily. It suited him. In an alternate universe, she had made him smile like that every day. “Go home, Karen. Get a good rest, go talk to someone about what happened. It’ll do you good.”

His words had gone in one ear and out the other, only one thing catching. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.”

There was a weird look on his face. They stared at one another for a while - they did that a lot, now that she thought about it - before he spoke again. “First and last.”

So it was. She nodded, accepting it. There was nothing else she could do, not now anyway. It would be something for future Karen to worry about. Present Karen had little to say on the matter. She picked up the bouquet of lilies from her side.

“For your family.” She sounded better this time, polite.

His eyes softened. He looked sad. “Thank you, ma’am.” _You helped me remember._ Her brain filled in.

“Thanks for saving me, Frank. Every single time.”

“I’m pretty sure each of those times I was the cause of the threat.”

“Do they cancel out? You’re the one coming up with the life principles.” He didn’t have an answer. He just had a small, sad smile on his face. In an alternate universe, he would have gotten off the bench and walked out of the park with her. The flowers would have been for something else, maybe they would have been roses. “You can let me know the answer in an email or something, since you can’t talk to me anymore.”

She didn’t wait for his reply, simply turning on her heel and walking away. She felt the weight of his gaze on her, all the way until she disappeared from view and even after. She didn’t look back.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was trying to create an emotional coldness between the two in this chapter, so I wrote their dialogue differently, with less description than I usually like (although I think there's still a fair bit heh). Much of it is coming from Karen's side - I think emotionally stunted Karen would be fun to explore, so this epilogue actually serves as a precursor for future fics in the same universe.
> 
> Otherwise, that's it for Kastle Week! I would like to come back one day and fill up this fic with more meat. The speed at which I wrote and the lack of time meant that I had to shorten each chapter by a fair bit. Thank you for all your wonderful support! I really wouldn't have made it this far without you guys because I am an undisciplined pig. :3


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